Chapter 37
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Jason
“So this book club is about hockey players?”
Lauren raised a glass of white wine to her lips, then lowered it again. “It’s about Rebels hockey players.”
“But it’s not an actual book, right?”
“It’s fan fiction. So the author, or maybe authors, I don’t know, uploads to a website about this fictional”—she finger-quoted that—“hockey team called the Chicago Renegades. And the stories are thinly veiled sexy adventures for your teammates. The names have been changed, ever so slightly, to protect the guilty.”
Tonight, the Empty Net was filled with very real hockey players, veteran and rookie, all here to celebrate Theo’s retirement. Everyone he had ever played with or against, mentored or menteed, sneezed on or bought coffee from, was here to wish him well.
Which I planned to do, right after Lauren finished telling me how her book club regularly discussed the fictional sex lives of non-fictional professional athletes.
“Who’s in it?”
“Well, there’s Beau Coden, a goalkeeper who likes threesomes.”
I gasped like a schoolgirl at this incredibly lazy fictionalizing of the name of my team’s tender, Noah Boden. “No!”
“Oh yes.” Lauren was practically giddy. “And Thatch Cockslaw, who is very well endowed. Summer’s been getting a kick out of that one.”
I tutted. “And you guys meet and dissect this junk?”
“We have a regular book club where we read bestsellers and fun romances, but then we set aside a few minutes each month for the latest adventures of the sexy Renegades.”
“Sounds faintly libelous.”
“It’s all in good fun. And none of the stories are real—or are they?” She winked. “You’re in there.”
“What’s my alter ego up to these days?”
“Mason Listener is quite the ladies’ man. He’s having an affair with the team owner, who has a side hustle as a dominatrix.”
“Definitely not me then. No one would ever accuse me of being a sub.”
She shuddered. “TMI.”
“Speaking of gossip—”
“Uh, fictional gossip.”
I rolled my eyes. “I heard a rumor that Nazarov might be trading into the Rebels.” Word on the ice was that he was ready to move.
“Yeah, I heard that, too.” Her eyebrows drew together. “But it might not happen. People like to spout utter nonsense.”
Bit of an overreaction, especially considering Lo loved to gossip about trades. She looked over my shoulder toward the bar entrance.
“So where’s your guy?”
“He’ll be here. You’re not going to be weird, are you?”
“With this man you found on an experimental dating app and who you’ve refused to introduce to me? Nah.”
She shook my shoulders. “Damn your big brother energy around people I date. I’m three months older than you!”
“Well, Lo, you’ve gone for some doozies. The dickhead poet—”
“He was very romantic. In iambic pentameter.”
And never picked up a check. “The volleyball player. What was his deal again?”
She sighed. “He kept shouting ‘spike!’ when he came.”
Still cracked me up to hear it. “Maybe shoot for someone a little less odd?”
She considered my excellently vague advice.
“I wish. That’s the thing with women, they’re either trying desperately to find a guy exactly like their dad or the opposite of him.
I’ve spent most of my dating life avoiding guys who give off Jonah Yates vibes.
” Lauren’s ex-con dad had certainly modeled a blueprint no daughter would want to follow for a boyfriend.
“It hasn’t really worked, so this time, I’m going for a normal guy with a normal job who looks good in a suit. ”
“Like a hockey player?”
“No sportsball people! Too much conflict of interest. But someone in banking who might defraud a bunch of investors? I could do that.” Her expression turned dreamy. “He’s a nice guy. I think you’ll like him.”
We would see. It might seem odd to be protective of a woman who could crush the balls of any guy I knew, on the ice or in a boardroom, but it had been that way since she had first checked me—against the rules, mind you—on a practice ice rink over twenty years ago.
Lauren thumped my arm. “Never mind my love life. Have you told your family yet?”
No need to ask about what.
“I’ve told Sean, but not my mom or Theo.
We’re giving it a little time until we’re completely out of the woods.
” Franky was at seventeen weeks and was healthy as a horse (her words), yet we were still keeping it mostly to ourselves.
As soon as it was out in the wild, we would lose control of the narrative. “Also, love life isn’t relevant here.”
A skeptical eyebrow arch was my reward.
“Franky and I are friends. We’re committed to the welfare of our kid, and neither of us wants to mess with that.”
My friend’s scandal antenna went on high alert. “Mess with it? Because—ooh, you’ve already messed with it, haven’t you? You’ve got super messy and you want to get messy again!”
“It’s complicated.” My stock answer for everything Franky-related.
“How did you think it wouldn’t be? So you might not seem like the likeliest pair—”
“As the universe keeps telling me.”
“But that doesn’t mean it can’t work. Do you want more from this situationship?”
I thought I did. But I may have been confusing my feelings with the emotions around becoming a dad, not to mention my sex fast. The last few weeks had been busy—games, travel, party planning, a stint on Conor’s dick-cast, and plenty of fun times with my right hand.
The doc might have given me leave to bang any bunny I wanted, but every other woman repulsed me—and I blamed her for showing me that a sweet rack and a pretty smile would no longer cut it.
I could barely hold a conversation with any of these women.
How the hell was I supposed to enjoy a roll in the sheets with them?
Thankfully I didn’t need to come up with an answer because Lauren’s attention was diverted. I turned to see a guy in a suit approaching us. My heart sank because he had crypto-loving finance bro written all over him, which meant I was predisposed to hate him. As long as he wasn’t a Brad or a Chad.
“Jason, this is Thad.” She kissed her guy. “Thad, this is my friend, Jason.”
“Rebels rule, man!”
Be nice. Be nice.
“They sure do,” I said gamely.
Five minutes later, my brain had started leaking out of my ears during a conversation about financial derivatives and mortgage-backed instruments.
I managed to make my escape and was chatting with Hatch when Conor walked in.
More like bounded, just making me tired by looking at him.
He was having a stellar debut season with Detroit and was in the running for the Calder for best rookie.
I loved being a witness to his success. So talented, the kid deserved it.
On the other hand, he was also a nosey little fucker who had somehow worked out that I was about to be a daddy.
He spent a few minutes shooting the shit with Hatch and Summer, before nudging me. “I see your sworn enemy is here.”
I followed his gaze. Rosie had just walked into the Empty Net.
With Franky.
Stunned, I turned to Conor, but I had nothing to add. He mouthed “okay” and dropped a knowing grin.
Don’t get me wrong, I was thrilled to see her. But here? No warning, nothing. We hadn’t spent any time together around other people since our new arrangement. I had no idea how I was supposed to act. Ignore her? Be civil? Spin her around so everyone knew she belonged to me?
Well, not in that sense. But our connection was something worth celebrating.
I wanted the world to know this woman had chosen me.
Rosie hugged Summer, then kissed Hatch and me on the cheek and launched into some nonsense about one of Summer’s bras stuffed in a sofa cushion.
I tuned out because all I could see was her.
Not just the woman who would soon give birth to my child, but the doc.
The sexy brainiac who haunted my dreams and fueled my fantasies.
She stared at me, gave a tiny shrug, then clamped those pearly whites on that succulent bottom lip. I tried to communicate with my eyes: Why are you here? She frowned, then took out her phone.
I did the same, and there it was: a text.
I’d had my phone in Do Not Disturb mode because Conor had spent the entire afternoon trash talking one of the New York D-men who went hard for Hatch in last night’s game.
I had needed a nap before the party, so the Connie Chirpfest was put on hold.
I’d forgotten to turn my phone’s notifications back on.
Doc
I’m coming to Theo’s party. Kind of a last-minute decision. Hope that’s okay?
Like she had to ask permission. But it would have been good to get our stories straight—Holy fuckington!
Francesca St. James had just taken off her coat to gasps from the crowd, and there it was.
My baby bump.
Conor side-eyed me then turned to Hatch with a smart-assed, “Yep.”
Franky pushed her glasses back up her nose. “As you can see, I’m pregnant. I was loath to steal focus from Theo’s party, but Rosie insisted I come. I hope he doesn’t mind.”
She looked over to where my brother was holding court at the bar. I probably should clue him in before someone else did.
“I’m sure you have questions,” Franky said.
This statement was greeted with a chorus of “oh, no!” and “not at all!”—liars, the lot of ’em—followed by hearty congrats. Franky eyed me and mouthed “sorry.” I had never wanted to hold someone so badly and soothe that worried frown with kisses.
“I should visit the bathroom before I ingest any liquid,” she said with a pointed look at me. Understood. But the plan was foiled when Summer and Rosie took her by the arm on either side. “We’ll come, too.”
As they headed off, Franky threw a nervy look over her shoulder.
Hatch turned to Conor. “Okay, spill.”
“Remember that time you warned me to wrap it before I tap it because I said people were too attached to their sperm?”
Hatch’s expression froze. As if the doc would have bothered with a boy like Conor Kershaw as her donor.
“Don’t worry, bro, it’s not me! Someone else we know decided that it was time to unwrap it and tap his swimmers for a very important mission.” He added a chin jerk my way, just in case it wasn’t clear.
We had agreed that when people knew she was pregnant, they would know the rest.
“Well, kids, let me tell you a story.” I filled them in with an abbreviated version of events.
“So, turkey baster?” Conor asked. “Sounds sexy.”
“I’m not going to elaborate any further, but I really need to talk to your dad before this game of telephone gets out of control.”
Both of my nephews looked blank.
“Whisper network. Later.”
I pulled Theo out of a conversation with former Rebels greats, Gunnar Bond and Cal Foreman. “Could I have a word?”
“Sure.”
Blood was fizzing through my veins. Finally, I felt like I was in the right place at the right time with the right woman. Except she wasn’t interested in me and I wasn’t sure anyone else would see this the way I did.
Here goes. “Franky’s pregnant and I’m the dad.”
He looked like I’d walloped him with a hockey stick. “You’re the dad?”
“She needed a donor. I stepped up.”
“Dude, this is huge.” Regrouping quickly, he gave me a hug. “When did this happen?”
“She’s due in early July. We’ve known for a little while, but we wanted to keep it under the radar until we got through the first trimester. She’s here tonight, so we thought it was time everyone knew.”
He smiled. “A lot of ‘we’ in there. So you two …?”
“No, it’s not like that.” My heart felt heavy. “But we’re going to co-parent. To be honest, I’m not sure why she agreed.”
“Because she recognizes a good thing when she sees it.”
“She only wanted a donor. I kind of muscled my way in.” Put like that, it sounded like I’d taken advantage of her desperation for a child. Agree to my terms or watch your dream wither on the vine.
Theo was studying me closely. “So the co-parenting was your idea?”
“It was. I’ve always wanted kids; I just didn’t want the hassle that goes with it.”
“Like a wife or partner?”
I sighed. “I’m not like you, T.”
“No, you’re not. Doesn’t mean you don’t have it in you to settle if you find the right one. Hey, I’ve been there. Baby first, falling in love later.”
I gave a mirthless laugh. “You knocked up Elle, but you were already falling for her long before that.”
“True. But maybe you and Franky might—”
“That won’t be happening.” She had made it very clear, and I wasn’t going to push those boundaries. This torrent of speculation about why we had agreed to this arrangement only laid bare what I couldn’t have. I needed to nip it in the bud.
“The Jock and the Nerd are not a thing,” I added.
If I said it enough, maybe I could make myself believe it.